4am knows all my secrets
by goingmywaydoll
Summary: The one where Mary and Francis have no boundaries, they all spend their summers getting drunk and falling over at the beach, Bash is a sad sop until Kenna and they all end up hungover and cuddling in the same bed by the end of it. Modern AU.


He can't pinpoint the exact moment he fell for Mary (he wonders if Francis can).

It was somewhere in between chasing her around the garden barefoot when she was ten and hoisting her on his shoulders for a chicken fight when she was sixteen.

Two years is a rather large age gap when you're young, but that didn't matter to Bash. She was, and still is, a precocious girl with too much adventure in her to fit into one life.

_December 2005 :: Orléans, France_

"Wake up, you idiot!" a high pitched voice sings and a weight appears on his chest. Bash blinks several times, taking in the bright room. Mary's eight year old face is floating above him, her mouth stretched into a large grin.

"It's Christmas!" she exclaims, rolling off of him. Bash groans, rolling over and pulling the covers over his head. "Wake up!"

"Let me be!" he mumbles, but his lips are twitching at the tone of impatience in Mary's voice.

"Don't be so boring," she says. "Francis is already awake and we want to open presents but we can't start without you."

The mention of Francis sparks competition in Bash and he throws off the covers. Mary grins triumphantly from her perch at the end of his bed. Mary bolts out of the room, calling Francis' name as she goes, her high voice echoing through the house. Bash hears Francis and Mary traipse down the stairs, their feet slamming against the steps. He shakes his head tiredly and follows Mary's path downstairs languidly.

_October 2011 :: Orléans, France_

Fourteen years old and a freshman in high school, Mary has grown into her body. What was once playful affection has grown into a more serious crush. He tells himself she's too young—a junior shouldn't be pining after a freshman. But she makes it so hard, with her tinkling laugh, her glowing eyes when she talks about something she loves, her long legs that skip around the house.

She remains a constant presence at the Valois mansion, it seems, coming after school with Francis and doing homework, staying for dinner. Mary used to spend almost every Friday night having sleepovers with Francis, Bash and occasionally Elizabeth but now that they're into their teen years, Marie and Catherine decided that it would be best that Mary and Francis "nurtured a less codependent relationship" in his dear stepmother's words.

In other words, they never let them spend a moment alone and sleepovers are rarely allowed anymore. Mary compensates with her childhood friends from Scotland and the fights between Francis and Catherine about their friendship only increase in frequency. The new lack of Mary only makes his crush grow—seeing her is almost a gift now since she's always with Francis and junior year for Bash brings mountains of homework and stress along with it. Now, instead of joining Francis and Mary in his bedroom, Bash goes to his room and tries not to listen to the sounds of their laughter through the walls.

However, Mary seems adamant to change that.

"Don't be so boring," she says, dragging out her words. He glances up from his textbook to see Mary leaning against his doorframe, wearing a white sundress that he's sure is too short to be wearing in this weather (but Mary is Mary and weather could never stop her).

"Don't be so distracting," he mimicks and she rolls her eyes.

"You can take a break to hang out with us, can't you?"

Bash hesitates, looking at his assignment sheet then at Mary. He shrugs before marking his page and closing his textbook.

He's long given up on refusing Mary.

_September 2012 :: Orléans, France_

Bash hears the screams from Francis' bedrooms the minute he walks in the door. He sets his soccer bag in the foyer, and hesitantly walks upstairs.

"Why do you have to be so annoying?" he hears Mary snap.

"_Me_? I'm annoying?" comes Francis' indignant reply. "That's rich, coming from you!"

"I'm not even going to grace that with a response!"

"Why, because you're so high and mighty? Miss Mary Stuart, top of her class, better than you!"

"What is your problem with me?" Mary asks and Bash can picture her eyes flashing in anger.

"I don't have a problem with you!" Francis protests.

"Could have fooled me!"

"God, could you just—" Francis can't seem to finish his sentence, too overcome with anger maybe.

"Just _what_? Just stop being me? Just stop—" Mary's sentence cuts off too, but it doesn't sound very intentional. Bash is careful not to creak the floorboards as he inches closer to the room. Francis' door is open and through it, he can see Francis' lips pressed persistently to Mary's. Mary is clutching at him, bringing him impossibly closer as their lips move together like they were made to.

Bash feels his heart plummet, his stomach swooping dangerously. He doesn't know how he didn't see it coming. They've been dancing around each other for weeks, years even. Their entry into high school meant new friends, and more importantly, new jealousies. Francis had often returned home from school moody and withdrawn and Mary wouldn't come 'round for days on end. The next day, Bash would see Mary holding hands with a boy he knew to be named Tomas and it fell into place. There was a brief period in time when Francis was seen often with Olivia D'Amencourt, the gorgeous sophomore, but after less than a week, Francis was back to being himself again and Mary would return to their house and neither Tomas nor Olivia were seen with Mary or Francis again.

_July 2015 :: Cassis, France_

It's Francis' idea (of course it is). And Mary goes along with it because she's Mary and he's Francis and Bash has nothing better to do.

Catherine and his father are at some high society dinner, Elizabeth out with her fiance, Phillip, and both Charles and Henry Jr at sleepovers. Catherine leaves the three of them in the TV room, making sure Mary and Francis aren't sitting too close together and Bash isn't exerting his oh so terrible influence on them. Francis waves his mother away easily, lying about just watching a movie, but the moment the door shuts, he springs from the couch, pulling Mary along. She giggles as she clasps his hand, following him into the kitchen.

"I got the booze!" Francis calls as Bash grabs the hidden cigarettes. Francis and Mary meet him on the lawn out back, Francis' arm slung around Mary's shoulders, his other hand holding a bottle of vodka. Mary has several blankets in her hands and is grinning excitedly at Bash as he exits the house.

His heart nearly skips a bit in the most cliché way when he takes her in. The golden light from the house falls on Mary's face, sending streaks of light in her dark hair. Her brown eyes are dancing, flecks of gold appearing every now and then. All she's wearing is an old band shirt (someone obscure Francis and Mary like) and cut off shorts, her face devoid of makeup, her hair in a messy bun and she looks almost annoyingly gorgeous.

And annoyingly Francis', just as he is hers.

There is no doubt of the ease they share around each other. Mary is comfortably tucked into Francis' arms as if it's the most natural thing in the world. One of Francis' lithe fingers threads through a lock of Mary's hair absentmindedly as she rests her head in the crook of his shoulder, fitting perfectly.

Their peace around each other is impossible to replicate. Bash seems to always feel breathless around Mary, like one exhale could blow him away, but Francis has a calmer sort of awe for Mary. He watches her in the quiet moments, the ones where all she does is read and breath. He supposes that's where his brother and he are the same—loving the same woman, often in awe of this one brunette who hurtled into their lives at six years old and refused to leave.

Bash shakes his head slightly to rid himself of the thoughts so he doesn't find himself staring at Mary for too long and walks over to them in what he hopes is a loose gait.

They parade down to the beach, passing the bottle around and lighting cigarettes for each other. They finally sink their toes into the cool sand and Mary pushes the bottle into Bash's hands, taking off down the beach and kicking off her shoes. Francis stamps out his cigarette and follows her, throwing off his shoes as well. He grabs her around the waist, spinning her around as she screeches loudly.

"Wake up the whole town, why won't you?" Bash yells after them, the vodka flowing through his veins as he lifts the cigarette to his lips and watches as Francis and Mary tumble to the sand, laughing loudly and absurdly.

"Bash!" Francis calls to him, holding out his hand. "The booze!"

"As you wish, your highness," Bash says, thoroughly drunk now as he bows dramatically. Mary, for some reason, finds this utterly ridiculous and dissolves into fits of laughter that shouldn't be as endearing as they are.

"Ponce," Francis mutters as he sits up, taking the bottle from Bash and swigging from it. The three of them sit there for a while, silently handing off the bottle and sharing cigarettes.

"What are we going to do when we go to uni?" Mary asks suddenly.

"Go to uni," Francis says and Mary slaps him lightly.

"I mean it," she says. "The Three Musketeers split apart."

"I've been at uni for a year, I don't know what you're talking about," Bash says, trying not to watch as Mary artfully exhales, her mouth in a small o as smoke drifts out and furls into spirals in the air.

"Yeah, but I'll be in Scotland and you'll be here," she says, handing Francis the cigarette. He takes it from her and places it between his lips without a care in the world.

"Doesn't matter," Francis says. He puts her hand over his heart. "You'll be here."

Mary bursts into laughter and falls back against the sand, Francis looking offended.

"I love you," Mary says and not for the first time that night, Bash's heart pangs, "But you are quite ridiculous when you're drunk."

"Agreed," Bash says, ignoring the burning in his throat as he swallows the vodka. Mary breathes in deeply, her eyes trained on the stars above them, her hair mingling with the sand.

"I'll miss this," Mary says softly.

"Me too," Bash says before he can stop himself. He and Francis fall back against the sand too at some point and they're just lying there, their shoulders pressed together, their hearts beating fast, their hair flickering ever so slightly in the wind. For a moment, they're what they used to be. Partners in crime, wreaking havoc all over the Valois mansion. Francis and Mary aren't utterly devoted to each other, Bash isn't poignantly woeful.

Bash isn't in the business of denying the future, but he suddenly wishes everything could stay exactly like it is in this moment; their noses slightly pink from the cool night air, their limbs full of energy, their eyes still young and anticipating.

He doesn't know how long they lay there, but he reluctantly remembers that Catherine and his father are going to be home at some point and he doesn't want to know what his step-mother would do if she found out they raided the liquor cabinet and the cigarette drawer. He pulls himself up, brushing the sand that's found its way into every crevice of his clothing. Francis is still looking up at the sky but Mary's gaze flickers to Bash's and stays locked there. They don't say anything at all, but Bash is used to not looking for meaning in moments with Mary.

Sure enough, Francis sighs and stands up as well, offering his hand to Mary. She accepts it and stands, lacing her fingers through his before swiping the bottle and drinking from it.

"To bed!" she says and he wonders if Francis noticed the waver in her voice. One look at him tells Bash that he did. Francis pulls Mary the slightest bit closer, pressing his lips to the top of her hair and whispering something in her ear. Mary smiles wistfully and nods before making her way to the stairs that lead up to the house.

* * *

They get back late, tripping over their feet as they step over the foyer. Francis flicks the light on and their shadows appear along the hallway, long and elegant. Bash opens his mouth to tell Mary he can drive her home but Francis beats him to it.

"Do you want a ride?" he asks, stepping towards her and tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. She smiles and rolls her eyes.

"Neither of us are in any state to drive," she says, her voice just above a whisper, her hand on Francis' chest.

"I'll set up the guest room for you," he says and Bash suspects Francis never intended on driving her home. The three walk down the hallway and Bash bids them goodnight before slipping into his bedroom, mostly unnoticed. The guest room is next to his, and he can hear them giggling as they make the bed. He hears the floorboards creek and the door opening and a bout of silence. He can picture them standing in the doorway, bathed in the hallway light and kissing softly. They whisper goodnight and the door shuts as Francis walks across the hall to his own room. It's not long before more footsteps reach his ears. Bash can see Catherine passing his open door and looking inside Francis' room.

"Mom." He hears the surprise in Francis' voice. "When did you get back?"

"Not long ago. Just checking in on you."

"Making sure Mary and I aren't sleeping in the same bed, you mean?" he asks and Bash can practically see the look of annoyance on his step-mother's face.

But Catherine's voice is ever impassive and only says, "Goodnight, my darling."

Bash stays up late reading, trying not to think about what Mary would do if he came into her room and asked to talk. He hears her bed squeak and makes a split second decision, sliding out of bed. He walks into the hallway, his heart pounding, rubbing his eyes as if he's been asleep. Mary must have borrowed one of Francis' shirts because the large grey soccer shirt is surely not hers. Her eyes finally meet his and a blush comes over her cheeks. Raising a finger to her lips, she smiles as if she's hiding something.

"Don't tell," she whispers before tiptoeing across the hall and slipping into Francis' room. Just before the door swings shut quietly, he sees Francis get up from his bed and walk to Mary, barely any space between them. His heart plunges as he listens to their whispers.

"Did anyone see you?" Francis asks.

"Bash did," she says and Bash isn't going to lie, it hurts that she says it like it's of no significance. "He won't tell, though."

There's a long pause and Bash is motionless in the hallway, listening to the floorboards creak as they move across the room as one. He retreats to his room, his heart slamming against his chest and his blood rushing in his ears. He turns ten pages in his book before realizing he didn't read any of them and closes his eyes, wishing the walls in the Valois mansion were thicker.

He can imagine Francis slowly running his fingers down her body, taking off her clothes carefully as if she's made of glass. He's seen the way they act together, Francis treating her like the most important person in the universe. He can imagine Mary's little roll of her eyes as she unhooks her bra herself, Francis taking to long. He can see in his mind's eye their bodies moving together effortlessly, their sweat mingling and her fingers raking down his back.

He knows they're trying to be quiet—they have to be because if Catherine knew what they were doing, she would kick Mary out for good. Not that she hasn't already tried.

But try as he might, nothing can drown out the moans coming from his brother's room.

* * *

"Good morning!" Mary sings as she skips into the kitchen, clad in Francis' soccer shirt tucked into jean shorts and prancing over to Francis. She kisses him on the cheek as if they didn't spend the night together. Catherine glances up from the paper, her lip curling ever so slightly. She sighs dramatically before standing from her stool at the counter and walking out of the room.

"Don't mind her," Francis says, pulling Mary to him. "She's just jealous I love you more."

Mary rolls her eyes but doesn't protest when Francis kisses her. Bash turns away, pretending to look for the cereal. When he realizes he's been looking for much too long to be normal, he grabs a random box and sets it on the counter, his eyes inevitably drifting up to Mary and Francis.

Mary is perched on Francis' lap, her arms wrapped around him as she kisses him soundly. Bash swallows hard and coughs. Mary springs off Francis' lap, blushing profusely.

"Sorry," she mutters, walking over to the coffee machine. Francis pinches her as she walks away and she spins around, an admonishing look on her face. "Francis."

"Bash did it," Francis says immediately, fighting back a grin. Mary has to purse her lips to prevent her smile while Bash fakes one and pretends he could be at ease like Francis is around Mary.

"You're incorrigible," she scoffs as she pours her coffee. "So, what are we going to do today?"

She hops onto the counter, looking between the two boys. Bash shrugs and Francis walks over to her, whispering in her ear as he refills his mug. Mary's face turns a startling shade of red, but her brown eyes turn a noticeable shade darker.

"Since_ that one_ is so adamant to be a thirteen year old boy for the rest of his life," she says, sighing and shaking her head as she turns to Bash, "We have to make the plans."

"You seemed quite enamored with this thirteen year old last night when I—"

"Francis." Mary's eyes widen comically and Francis smirks, taking a sip of coffee smugly and training his eyes on Mary.

"We could go to the beach," Bash suggests, trying not to look at the way her long legs are swinging off the counter.

"Thank God for you, Bash," she says before walking over to him and pressing her lips to his cheek. His cheek burns long after her lips have left it and she has settled herself on a stool by the counter. She turns to Francis. "At least we have him to make plans."

"So why don't you date him?" Francis shoots back.

"Maybe I will," Mary says without missing a beat, turning to Bash and raking her eyes up and down his body. "He can't be much different than you, you're brothers."

Francis huffs and Bash hopes to God they don't hear the slamming of his heart.

_August 2015 :: Cassis, France_

Mary invites her friend Kenna to the beach and he wonders if she did it intentionally.

Kenna has long legs, caramel colored skin and long brown hair. She's beautiful, she really is, but to Bash, she isn't Mary.

Later, after they've gone swimming and done chicken wars and built sand castles, and they're just lounging on towels, Bash realizes why Mary brought Kenna.

Mary is dragging Francis back into the water, but he catches her lips with his. Mary pretends to struggle, breaking away to call for help. But Francis just pulls her closer to him, pressing his lips back to hers. Mary melts into it and it takes them several minutes to make it to the ocean. Francis throws her in and Mary's laughs are swallowed by the ocean and later, Francis' lips.

They didn't want to bore him.

"They're quite sickening sometimes, aren't they?" Kenna says suddenly and Bash tears his eyes away from his brother and his girlfriend sharing a quiet moment, their lips moving slowly as they float beside each other, barely inches apart.

"I suppose," Bash says, trying to sound indifferent.

"I guess you're used to it," she says and he frowns. "You've seen them from the beginning. I've been friends with Mary since we were little but I only met Francis when we were ten and then later when we were seventeen. Seventeen and already ready to spend the rest of their lives together."

Bash doesn't say anything.

"Gives you hope, I guess. They've known each other since they were six and they still love each other. Mind you, they have some intense fights, but still…"

"They fight?" Bash asks, his curiosity piqued.

"You didn't know?" Kenna looks surprised and she flicks her sunglasses down to look at him. "They get in massive screaming matches about things that barely even matter. They've been together so long and are so damn stubborn it's impossible not to fight."

Bash's heart skips a beat. He always assumed Mary and Francis were the perfect couple. They always look so happy together, like they're in the perpetual honeymoon phase.

"'Course, that doesn't mean they love each other any less," Kenna adds. "I'd say the opposite, actually. Overall, they're blissfully happy. They love each other so much that they'll pretty much forgive anything."

"Anything?" asks Bash.

"I mean, not anything. Words said in the midst of a fight can never be taken too seriously. They've both taken their cheap shots, said things they didn't mean, stuff only meant to hurt the other. They understand each other so fundamentally that it doesn't matter. They barely speak after their fights anymore—they just kind of drift back together, mutually forgiving the other. It's quite entertaining."

He isn't going to lie, hearing that Mary and Francis fought gave him a spark of hope but Kenna only dashed it just as fast as she put it there. He barely notices that Francis and Mary are out of the water, Francis giving Mary a piggyback ride back up to the blankets. He sets her down on the towel and lies beside her. She smiles briefly at him before putting her sunglasses on and turning to Kenna. Kenna begins to tell Mary about someone named Lola's new boyfriend and Francis turns to Bash.

"It was a good idea to come to the beach," he says.

"Someone had to make a plan. You were too busy acting like you were twelve."

"Excuse me, Mary said thirteen," he says, mock affronted and Bash laughs. It feels nice, the sun and the company of his brother. Bash's crush on Mary, if you could call it that, slightly hinders their relationship. Bash doesn't resent him—he couldn't, not when Mary was so obviously in love with him. But it's hard to hang out with Francis when he's either with Mary or talking about Mary. Of course, they have days where Mary doesn't come up at all, but there's always the reminder in the back of Bash's mind of what—and who—Francis gets to go home to.

They spend the next hour at the beach, Kenna and Mary sunbathing as Francis and Bash alternate between reading and talking. The sun is starting to brush the horizon, turning the sky shades of orange and blue when they retreat back to the house. It's decided that Kenna is staying for dinner. Francis chases Mary up the stairs from the beach and she laughs all the way, her brown hair swaying as she runs. Francis finally catches her at the top, carrying her into the house. Bash pretends he doesn't see them enter the bathroom together.

He and Kenna stand awkwardly in the hallway as the shower tap turns on and they both try and ignore what their friends are doing.

"I can show you to the other bathroom."

"Another bathroom? Aren't you fancy?" she says, her hips swaying as she walks down the hallway. Bash smiles and guides her away.

* * *

Kenna spends the next week of her holiday with them, smoothly integrating herself into their group. She's not unwelcome either, Bash realizes on the fourth day. They're watching TV, lazily flicking through the channels looking for something to watch at three o'clock on a Wednesday.

"I despise Wednesdays," Kenna says suddenly, throwing the remote on the couch. Bash snorts and Kenna shoots him a look. "They're horrid. It's not far enough into the week that the weekend is ages away but it's far enough that it doesn't feel that far but it really is."

"You do realize we're on holiday right? Everyday is a weekend," Bash says.

"It's the principle of it. I still hate Wednesdays, no matter what day of the year it is."

"What have Wednesdays ever done to you?" he asks

"Oh, you _would_ ask that," she says, before sighing and changing the channel once again.

"Would you just decide?" Bash snaps after the constant channel flipping begins to grate on his nerves.

"Someone's grouchy today," she mutters before settling on a soap opera.

"I'm not the one that just spent the last minute and a half describing how much I hate Wednesdays."

"That is completely justifiable!"

"Justifiably mental," he adds and Kenna chucks a pillow at him. "And _I'm_ the grouchy one."

"Yeah, Mr I'm-in-love-with-my-brother's-girlfriend-and-it's-rather-hackneyed-and-endlessly-depressing," she mocks and Bash thinks all the breath just left his lungs.

"I'm not in love with my brother's girlfriend," he says quickly and hope she doesn't hear the falter in his words. She does.

"That's cute, but just because Mary and Francis haven't picked up on it yet, doesn't mean it's not blatantly obvious. They're too obsessed with each other to notice."

Bash stays silent, deciding that lying probably won't get him anywhere.

"Smart move," she says at his silence. "I can read you like a book already—lying isn't a good idea."

"You're not going to tell her, are you?" he asks and wished he sounded less pathetic.

"Of course not. She'd deny it anyways, say that you're like a brother to her because you are, that she's known you longer because she has. Francis is so in love with Mary that the mere idea that someone else might be goes so far over his head it's ridiculous. Your secret is safe with me, I swear. Just get over her, okay? This can't end well."

"Don't think I've tried?" he asks.

"I have no doubt that you _think_ you've tried. You're not over her because there's a part of you that doesn't want to be. The optimist in you still prays for something to happen and the logical part tells it won't. Tip: listen to the logical part. This is going to sound harsh, especially since we've only known each other a week, but Mary will never leave Francis of her own accord, nor will Francis leave her. Maybe they'll break up eventually, though to be honest, I doubt it, but she'll never go for her first love's brother. It would hurt Francis too much and she would never intentionally hurt Francis. He will always come first in her heart no matter what. The sooner you realize this, the sooner you can move on and get a life."

"I have a life," he says indignantly because he can't think of anything else to say. Kenna fixes him with a look before turning to the TV and not saying another word.

Kenna is his friend now, that's for certain. She's brutally honest in a refreshing way and she's stunning. She's witty and bold and smart. She seems perfect. Bash already likes hanging out with her—he feels better after each time. But there's a tether holding him back and he has no interest in leading on a girl he could actually care for.

He spends the next hour or so trying to focus on the TV and not on Kenna's words, or Kenna's smell, or Kenna's breathing. A distraction in the form of Francis saves him from overthinking anything and he nearly sighs in relief when his brother enters the room and throws himself on the couch, his hair still wet from his shower.

Mary follows moment later, wrapped in a yellow bathrobe and her hair in a towel. Francis reaches for her and she fluently falls onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder and watching the TV.

Bash can't decide what's more distracting—the smell of Mary's shampoo, or Kenna's words repeating in his mind.

* * *

The day Francis and Mary leave for university, Bash wakes late. He shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. It takes him a minute to notice them.

They're standing in the middle of the kitchen, Mary folded into Francis' arms. He's stroking her hair lightly as her chest heaves. She's crying, Bash realizes.

"Just," he can hear her say, "Just come back to me."

"Of course," Francis whispers. "Always."

Bash takes several steps back, deciding coffee and cereal can wait.

Mary and Francis come out of their rooms reluctantly, Catherine, his father and Mary's mother waiting in the foyer. Marie de Guise reaches for her daughter, pulling her into a hug and whispering in her ear. Mary smiles at her mother and accepts the kiss on her forehead. She thanks Catherine and his father for the stay and lifts her bag. Her arms come to wrap around Bash's neck and he hugs her back, hoping she can't feel his heart against her chest. Her eyes flicker to Francis' again and Bash sees that they've already said their goodbyes. Francis hugs her tightly but Catherine coughs and they're forced to pull away.

"Love you," he hears Francis whisper in Mary's ear.

"I love you too," she whispers back and finally walks out the door to the car. Marie thanks Catherine and his father once more before nodding to Francis and Bash.

"Well, now that's over with," Catherine says, clasping her hands as the car in the driveway turns on. His father goes off to his office, his step-mother to God knows where, leaving Francis and Bash alone in the hallway. Francis is motionless for a while before he rubs his eyes and sighs.

"You can visit each other," Bash says. Francis sends him a look.

"She'll be in Scotland, Bash."

Bash doesn't know what to say to that and instead pulls his younger brother into a hug. Francis doesn't cry, not now, not when his mother tears up after dropping him off in Paris, not when his father gives him advice, not when Bash hugs him, and he wonders if he imagined the tears he saw in his brother's eyes in the kitchen.

_May 2016 :: Paris, France_

Bash grits his teeth after downing another shot of a tequila. Kenna grins at him from her barstool next to him.

"Drinking to forget?" she asks. He doesn't respond, instead training his eyes on his brother and Mary at the end of the bar. The end of their freshman year and they can't get their hands off each other. Kenna follows his gaze and nods understandingly.

The thing about Kenna is that she's perceptive. It did take her less than a week to realize Bash's feelings for Mary and they're so often thrown together while Mary and Francis obsess over each other that they have their own little pathetic partnership. There's a guy in her life too, someone who's taken, but she won't tell him who. He doesn't mind, as long as she lets him show up at her flat drunk and depressed.

"Do they know they're in public, you think?" asks Bash bitterly as he watches Francis' long fingers move up her inner thigh.

"Don't think they care," responds Kenna. Bash hears Mary's high pitched admonition and watches as Francis whispers in her ear. Mary nods and hops off the barstool, grabbing his hand and weaving through the thick crowd of people to the bathroom. Francis spins her around, pressing her against the wall near the bathrooms and kissing her soundly. Mary immediately pulls him closer, tugging on his curls. Bash nearly gapes as he watches Francis slips his hand up her dress. He can practically hear Mary's gasp, even though the music pounds in his ears and they're all the way across the room. He can see Francis' arm flexing as he works his fingers inside her, completely in public.

Bash glances around. There's a couple snogging quite openly on the couch and the dancers are by no means chaste. He supposes a stolen moment between two university students isn't too scandalous.

He can't tear his eyes away from the way Mary's eyes are closed, her mouth slightly open, her forehead pressed to his brother's. She drags his lips up to hers and melts against him, her lips moving quickly and desperately. Francis smirks ever so slightly as his hand reappears and Mary pulls him into the bathroom, their lips fused together.

_July 2017 :: Cassis, France_

It's the first time they've all been at the beach house since Mary, Francis and Kenna went to college. Kenna is a permanent staple in their group, the D'Artagnan to their Three Musketeers, Mary jokes. Bash is 22 and realizing (it took him ten years?) that this is no longer a crush. His year is filled with coffee, studying and stress with occasional distractions, and the summer after he graduates college is the opposite—full of sand tracked through the house, watching the sunrise on the beach and sunburns on noses and shoulders.

For a graduation present, Catherine and Henry gave Bash and the others a summer in the house by themselves. Without Catherine there to order them around, they walk around barefoot in bathing suits, leave the cereal out and sleep on the beach.

It's nights like these that Bash is grateful for their little group.

Mary got the splendid idea to make dinner in the kitchen rather than order pizza or go out. She and Francis woke early to go to the farmer's market after trying to wake Kenna, to which she said, "I will go to a farmer's market at nine am when hell freezes over." Bash didn't have any desire to see Francis and Mary feed each other strawberries with their fingers or whatever other ridiculous couple thing they do. They returned at eleven, their arms laden with tomatoes and blueberries and numerous other groceries.

"What took you so long?" Kenna asks, looking up from her cereal, still clad in pajamas. "You do realize hooking up at a farmer's market is generally frowned upon, right?"

Mary blushes and even Francis' cheeks are tinged with red.

"We didn't," Mary says honestly and Kenna shrugs as if to say well, you might as well have.

"What d'you get then?" she asks, skipping over to them and peering into the bags. Mary begins to unload, passing things to Francis and listing them off. It's all very domestic and Bash watches as they navigate each other perfectly, without an ounce of effort. It's natural, they way they move around each other, so used to each other's bodies that they barely even struggle to move around the kitchen.

Bash feels the opposite—his mind is everywhere, on Mary's hair cascading down her back in wavy sheets, on the way she brushes by Francis as if to reassure herself of his presence, the way she knows where everything is, putting the tomatoes on the cutting board, getting the pasta out and filling up the pot with water. She flicks water from the sink at Francis, giggling quietly. He responds in kind, filling up his cupped hands from the faucet and throwing it at her. Her shirt is covered in dark spots of water, several strands of hair plastered to her face and Bash has trouble concentrating on his breathing.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Kenna asks, hopping onto the counter in front of him. He blinks twice, bringing himself back to the present.

"You," he jokes and a part of him wonders if it has a bit of truth in it.

"Am I," she says, waggling her eyebrows, "Distracting you?"

"Your womanly wiles are too much for me to handle," Bash says, nodding.

"Oh," Kenna says, waving her hand as if it's nothing of import and scoffing slightly, "You haven't seen anything yet."

With that, she slips off the counter and walks away, her hips swinging. Bash swallows and peels his eyes away from her. When he looks up, Mary is looking at him curiously. Bash immediately turns around, pretending to fuss with the tomato sauce and hoping the steam rising from the stove is enough to cover his blush.

* * *

They eat on the floor of the kitchen, messily slurping the pasta and passing a bottle of wine around without glasses. Bash trains his eyes on his plate, making sure not to glance too long at Kenna for he knows that the moment he sets eyes on her, he won't be able to look away.

Apparently, Kenna seems to have a death wish for him, because it's impossible not to look at her as she throws her head back laughing at something Mary says, her eyes closed and mouth stretched in a toothy smile. Her chestnut eyes dance with mirth as she teases Mary, her smirk just barely held back.

"You just make it so easy," she says, shrugging simply.

"Or you just make innuendos about absolutely everyone," replies Mary.

"Both." Kenna nods. "Definitely both."

The four friends lapse into a lengthy and comfortable silence as they eat and nothing about it feels stiff or inelegant. They know each other too well for it to be.

"You know what we should do?" Francis says suddenly, breaking the silence. "We should buy an apartment, all of us together in Paris, or London, or New York, or Edinburgh after we graduate. We could split the costs, Mary and I could sleep in the same room to limit the amount of bedrooms we need."

"You sound like you've thought about this," Mary notes.

"Either way, you and I are living together after uni. Why not live with them too?"

"I'm already graduated," points out Bash and Francis shrugs.

"So just wait two years. We're not your only friends."

"Actually, I think we are," Kenna says, trying not to laugh.

"Funny," Bash says dryly. "I'm laughing so hard right now."

Kenna smiles sweetly at him and he flips her off in response.

"Well, that wasn't very kind of you."

"It wasn't meant to be," he says, but his lips are curling upwards in a smile he can't fight.

"How rude you are, Bash. Wouldn't your mother be ashamed?"

Bash opens his mouth to respond, but Mary interrupts him, saying. "When you two finish flirting, help Francis and I clean up."

While he and Kenna were bantering, Mary and Francis stood up and put their dishes in the sink. Francis is leaning against the counter and Mary is leaning against him, his arms around her waist.

"We weren't flirting," they both say in unison. He wasn't even aware of Mary moving, he realizes. She moved all the way across the room without him watching her, or thinking about her. He was too busy talking to Kenna, he tells himself and it sounds like an excuse. He and Kenna make eye contact but the moment they realize, they both become very fixated on clamboring to their feet and cleaning up.

And of course they have a soap battle with bubbles flying everywhere and of course they all end up on the floor with their sides hurting from laughter and of course they fall asleep that night feeling like teenagers again, young, in love and blissfully unaware.

* * *

Bash spends the next week and half with his head spinning, his heart hammering when Kenna brushes past him, his lungs feeling tight when Mary smiles. But more often than not, it's the former. And it surprises him. Mary is not the center of his attention any more, in fact, he finds himself concentrating on Kenna and barely catching Mary's every movement.

She doesn't make him feel breathless.

Kenna makes breathing easier, she clears him out, making everything seem sharper, brighter, _better_. She doesn't have an aura of tension around her as Mary does. She makes him feel aware of every sense in his body, like he could feel each blood cell pumping through his veins, each molecule of oxygen flowing to his lungs, each particle of light making its way to his retinas.

When Bash was within inches of Mary, he could feel her breathing, watch as she moved the slightest bit. He was hyperaware of her actions, noting everything from the gold flecks in her eyes to the way she tugged on her ear when she was nervous.

When Bash is near Kenna, it is the opposite. He is aware of _everything_. He can hear the laughs of Mary and Francis as they throw cheese at each other, he can smell the sizzling tomato sauce on the stove, hear the water boiling, the hot air snaking into every crevice of his skin. Kenna is not the only thing he notices—she is the most important thing he notices.

_December 2017 :: Paris, France_

It's been five months since he last saw Kenna. He has a job, a roommate, a life. He talks with Francis every other weekend and sometimes Mary calls through the phone to say hi. They moved into an apartment off-campus and they video chatted him the day they painted it.

Mary's brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, several locks framing her face. She wore an overlarge plaid button down (probably Francis') over an obscure band tee, tucked into jean shorts. Once upon a time, Bash would have paused to look at her, to admire her makeup-free face, her careless beauty. But he didn't.

Instead, he waved to her goodnaturedly and asked how she is. They joked and laughed and when he cut off the connection, the last thing he saw was Francis throwing paint at Mary and Mary's head thrown back in laughter.

Mary is now hurtling towards him, wearing a stunning black dress with gold beading along the bodice.

"You came!" she says, throwing her arms around him.

"'Course I came," he says, responding to the hug. He glances around the packed foyer, taking in Francis and Mary's friends and other acquaintances.

"I wasn't sure if the snow would have stopped you," she says, shrugging as she pulls away. "Come see Francis."

She tugs on his hand, pulling him through the crowd of university students and Bash is relieved to find he doesn't feel anything with the skin to skin contact. Mary peeks into the sitting room, frowning.

"He must be in the kitchen," she says, already beginning to leave the room.

Bash stops short in his tracks when he sees her. She's standing by the window, wearing an ivory dress that fits her perfectly. She's nodding at something the bloke she's talking with is saying, but there's a familiar glazed look in her eyes, like she'd rather be somewhere else. Her eyes rest on Bash and he swears she froze but Mary is whisking him out of the room already and into the adjoining kitchen. Francis is talking to a tall blond man whose arm is wrapped around one of Mary's friends that Bash vaguely recognizes. He breaks into a grin when he sees his brother, putting his beer down. Pulling him into a hug, Francis asks how he is.

"Good," Bash replies, but he's distracted, thinking of the look in Kenna's eyes when she saw him. He and Francis talk about nothing and everything, catching up and enjoying being with each other after so long. He meets the couple beside Francis. His name is Leith, hers Greer and they go on double dates often, apparently.

Mary barely leaves Francis' side the entire time, always tucked under his arm comfortably. Francis, for his part, is ever aware of Mary in the smallest of ways. He adjusts to her movements effortlessly without breaking concentration, so attuned to her habits and actions. He's always touching Mary in some way, or reaching for her as if there's an invisible tether pulling them together. They navigate their small kitchen simply and easily, in tune to each other.

"Mary?" an oh so familiar voice calls into the kitchen. "Fifteen minutes un—"

She stops talking when she sees Bash, her eyes widening slightly. But because she's Kenna, she barely misses a beat and continues, "Fifteen minutes until midnight."

"Thanks, Kenna," Mary says, fighting back a grin. "Oh, Bash, would you mind getting some more chips to put out? Kenna can help you."

Before he knows it, Mary and Francis and their friends are gone, leaving him and Kenna alone.

"Well, it's been a while," she says.

"You know, I've been busy," he says and curses himself for sounding so feeble.

"Evidently." She raises an eyebrow. "You know, it is New Year's Eve."

"And…?"

"You know what they say about New Year's."

"No, I don't actually." He isn't sure if he's intentionally stringing her along or not but either way, it's working because Kenna is taking a step towards him, looking at him through her lashes.

"No point in celebrating if you don't have anyone to kiss," and their lips meet. It's just like touching her, but everything is heightened—simple but sending chills down his spine. Her hand goes to the back of his neck as he pulls her closer to him, smiling against her lips. He's not sure how long they stand there, kissing in the kitchen but the slamming of the kitchen door behind them springs them apart.

"Oh," Mary says, standing in the doorway, her mouth slightly open and her eyebrows raised in stupefaction. "I'm just going to—Yeah, bye."

She nods shortly and bows out of the room, her face bright red. Kenna and Bash look at each other and do what they do best—laugh. It comes over Bash in spasms and it feels good, nice, natural. He realizes in that moment that this is what a relationship is supposed to be—effortless and raw. Laughing with Kenna makes him feel whole, like he didn't spend the last ten years in love with someone who would never love him back.

"It's almost midnight," a voice says at the door. Mary has peeked her head through the door, her face still flushed. "That's what I was going to say. And I'm happy for you."

She smiles widely at that before adding, "I'm going to need you to tell Francis though. He won't believe me."

"Um, okay?" Kenna says, frowning slightly and it's probably the most endearing thing he's ever seen.

"He owes me twenty euros now," she says triumphantly. "I said before the year ended and he said after."

Bash and Kenna stare at her blankly.

"We had a bet on when you'd get together," she explains. "'Bout time you knew."

Bash opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by Francis' head appearing at the door.

"It's two minutes to midnight," he says, looking between them. "What's going on?"

"I win!" Mary exclaims excitedly, turning towards him and putting out her hand. "Pay up, Valois!"

"Er, what?" Francis looks completely dumfounded.

"The bet, you idiot. Pay up, they got together."

"It was just a kiss," Kenna says and Bash's lips twitch upwards irresistibly.

"I still win," Mary says. Francis rolls his eyes before reaching into his pocket and drawing out a twenty euro note.

"I'll make you pay for that tonight," he mutters and Mary's eyes darken the slightest bit as her cheeks flush.

"Well then," she says, swallowing hard. "We'd better get out there, haven't we?"

_June 2022 :: Cassis, France_

They say that they're too young to get married, are they sure they're ready, it isn't the same as being as being childhood sweethearts, that maybe they should wait a little bit.

But no one says anything when Mary appears at the steps down to the beach, biting her lip to hold back her beam, or when Francis has this look of utter stupefaction and love on his face as Mary walks down the aisle slowly, her white lace dress dragging ever so slightly in the sand. No one says anything when their lips meet and they pull apart, looking blissfully dazed. No one says anything when Mary's head rests against Francis' chest during their first dance, or when their hands never leave each other's during the entire reception. No one says anything when Mary's hand sticks outside the car pulling them to the airport, or when Francis pulls her back in the car, certainly for a kiss.

But before all that happens, Bash fights back a smile as Kenna struggles to walk gracefully down the sandy aisle in her heels, her blue dress flickering in the wind. Everyone on the beach's eyes are trained on Mary's but Bash can't tear his eyes away from Kenna, whose long hair is loose in the wind, blowing in her face. He watches as she kisses Mary's cheek, taking the bouquet from her hands so Mary can hold Francis'. Bash tells himself to look at his brother and soon-to-be sister in law because this is a moment that he will never see again, but Kenna is standing just so behind Mary that she's impossible not to notice.

And she knows he's staring at her. Her dark eyes dance when they meet and she raises her eyebrow the slightest bit only he can notice and smirks a bit, fully aware of the effect he has over her. He hears the clapping surrounding them and vaguely registers Mary and Francis' joy filled kiss but all he sees is the way the ring on Kenna's finger glints in the sunlight.


End file.
